


Seeing Green

by StaticLantern



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-13
Updated: 2014-05-13
Packaged: 2018-01-24 14:38:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1608719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StaticLantern/pseuds/StaticLantern
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-Avengers story about Clint dealing with having had a God in his head. Will eventually have Frosthawk (Clint x Loki), but there's not really any in this chapter.<br/>However, there are some somewhat graphic displays of violence, and references to rape.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seeing Green

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on Tumblr!
> 
> Http://birdwithakeyboard.tumblr.com/

It had been only one week since Fury had “suggested” that Clint take a “vacation” and the man had done nothing but laze about in his dingy little apartment, eating the last of what little food was left in the fridge, and occasionally walked down to the redbox to rent a movie.  
It was now nearing three-thirty in the evening and Clint was drooling on the couch, the credits of Neo Ned scrolling across the screen of his tiny tv. His eyes stared blankly at the screen, boredom scrawled desperately across his face. Slowly, he blinked and began to sit up, wiping the drool from his face. There was no point in just lazing around his house anymore. He’d put on a couple pounds by now (would have been more if he hadn’t run out of food), and was out of shape. Just going down the stairs to check the mail was tiring him.  
The tv shut off with a flash and a crack of static, which it always did due to the fact that is was a piece of shit. Clint stood idly about in the living room of his apartment for a few more minutes as he attempted to decide what he wanted to do next. A quick look in his wallet and a growl from his stomach practically ordered him to go out. Food was what he needed, he would decide on something to occupy the rest of his time once he’d eaten.

As per usual, Clint grabbed a light jacket and exited the apartment, locking the door behind him and hopping down the stairs. Reaching the bottom, he checked the mail quickly (nothing) and stepped out onto the street. As he turned the corner out onto the first road, he brushed against a stranger. At first glance, the long, slick black hair and green eyes caught his attention, freezing his heart. Upon second glance, the stranger had already disappeared and Clint forced himself to brush it off.  
This had been happening for the past month and a half, which was why he had been suspended from work until further notice. It wasn’t exactly good image to be pulling your gun forty times a day on a man who wasn’t even there. Fury thought he was going crazy, Coulson thought he was experiencing extreme stress, Natasha… well, she stopped touching him shortly after and kept giving him looks. Not anything anyone could decode just from seeing the looks, but Clint knew her well enough. They said sadness, anger, disgust. She was thinking things that Clint was certain weren’t true, but there was no way to tell, considering he had long blanks in his memory in the week that he’d been under Loki’s control.

Clint’s attention snapped back to reality when he approached the Burger King, his stomach growling. He let out a long sigh, almost yawning, scratching his cheek as he tugged at the door to the restaurant. It was warm inside, a break from the fall/winter overcast and wind. He forced himself to keep focused, not letting himself get distracted by black hair or green eyes or anyone taller than him like usual. It was ridiculous and petty, letting simple features like that trick his brain into thinking it’s Loki. It’s never going to be Loki, he knows that. He shouldn’t have to worry, there’s no way he could possibly come back to earth.  
But Clint did worry. He worried all the time. He felt sick to his stomach, he was tired and anxious and he couldn’t focus on anything anymore. That’s why he spent days at a time vegetating on the couch. It was all he could do to keep from hating himself for things he couldn’t even remember.  
“Sir?” Clint started, realizing the cashier had been calling to him for the past minute as he stared blankly at the drink dispenser behind the man. “Are you ready to order?”  
“Oh… yeah, sorry, kind of zoned out there,”

Clint hid away in a corner booth shortly after ordering, facing the wall as not to encourage his habit of searching faces.  
“So how’s your story going?” A voice nearby separated itself from the rest of the idle chatter that filled the room.  
“I’m so far behind it’s stupid. I’ve been so busy with life bullcrap lately, I’ve not had any time to write. What about you?” The other person replied, sounding clearly stressed and frustrated about it.  
“Pff, yeahright. NaNoWriMo is just an excuse I use to start my stories, I’ve never finished,”  
The man paused eating, now interested in their conversation. Maybe it’s exactly what he needed. He’d never tried writing before, but maybe if he could find the right thing to write about, he could get lost in it enough that eventually Loki would be the last thing on his mind.  
He pulled his laptop out of his bag and turned it on, searching “Nahnoreemoh”, “Nawnowreemo”, *Nannowrimoe”, “NaNoWriMo”. A month long writing competition basically. It was half-way through November already, but he didn’t have anything better to do, no distractions like most people do just living normal life. He shrugged, finished his food and left. It was already working. All the way back to his apartment, he was thinking about what he might be able to write about. Not even once did his mind wander to Loki. Not even once did he think he saw him out of the corner of his eye.

Another week passed and Clint Barton had been writing passionately. Every day, he’d get up, eat, and then spend all day writing. Somedays he would walk to a local Burger King or McDonalds to use their wifi, looking things up and updating his word count on NaNoWriMo.org. It was already lunch time when his phone rang for the first time in two months. Answering it, he heard Agent Phil Coulson’s voice on the other end.  
“Agent Barton, how are you?” Phil chimed in his usual optimistic but not overly cheery tone.  
“I didn’t know your job description included checking up on vacations,” Clint replied, still a little more than bitter at SHEILD. Before he left, they were insisting he see SHEILD’s own Psychiatrist, Dr. Habib, who in Clint’s opinion, was a complete jackass and he had no clue how the man had obtained a PhD in anything. Only after refusing was he told to “take a few days”.  
“My job entails many things Agent Barton,” Coulson replied.  
“Look, I’m busy, call me back when Fury takes his head out of his ass,” Clint replied, just about to hang up.  
“That’s actually what I’m calling about. If you’re willing to come in for a quick eval, you might be able to come back to work. We just want to see what kind of progress you’re making on your vacation,” Coulson sounded genuine, as he always did, “If you’d please,”  
“Fine, whatever the boss says right?” He said, his heart sinking at his word choice for a brief moment, “When do you wanna see me?”  
“Why don’t you come by on Monday, I’ll meet you there,”  
As soon as he hung up, he grabbed his computer and shoved it in his bag, swinging it over his shoulder and pulling his jacket on. He was three streets down when he realized he didn’t know where he was going. Clint scanned the buildings around him, mulling over the choices in his head. There were a few fast food joints, a library, some buildings he couldn’t identify, and a Starbucks. Any place was as good as any, he figured, as the Starbucks was the closest and he knew people had a tendency to sit in those coffee stops for hours, writing. Usually college students, but he didn’t really care either way.  
Once inside, he dropped his laptop on the table, plugging in the charger and walking over to the counter to order a drink before he started writing.  
“Welcome to Starbuck, what can I get for you today?” The barista behind the counter asked, his thick accent sending shivers up Clint’s spine, his long black hair covering Clint’s skin with goosebumps, the glint of his green eyes making Clint sick to his stomach.  
“Loki,” He was barely able to utter the word, his lip trembling.  
“It’s been a long time, I was starting to think you were avoiding me,” Loki replied, smiling, “My boss will get angry if he thinks I’m socializing, you should order something,”  
“You-...you don’t work here,” Clint replied, his voice hitching.  
“Don’t I know that, but good luck explaining that to the manager,” Loki laughed heartily, “I’m just going to ring up a medium coffee, no foam, extra hot, one shot original coffee creamer, it’s what you usually order, right?”  
“N-no, no fuck you!” Clint stumbled backwards, pointing at Loki, “You stay the fuck away from me!” He turned, snatching his computer off the table. Everyone was staring at him but he was ignoring them, keeping his eyes locked on Loki. He bolted out of the shop, speeding down the street, not stopping until he had locked himself in his bedroom. 

Clint dropped his bag on the bed and immediately lumbered into the bathroom, smashing into the doorframe before falling into the bathtub. Turning the water on, the man tugged his shoes off and sat up against the edge of the tub, hyperventilating, sweating. He kept running his hands through his hair, strands beginning to fall out onto his shoulders from the friction.  
He had no idea how long he stayed there, but eventually the apartment darkened and his eyes were growing heavy. He was still tensed up in the tub, the shower now running cold and had been overflowing onto the bathroom floor for the past couple of hours. He heard someone knocking earlier, but he ignored it, barely hearing it, his mind buzzing too loudly for him to even think. Clint barely managed, but he reached out and twisted the knob, shutting the water off and flipping the drain. He passed out before even half the water had drained.

Clint was so cold that his skin burned. The fingers that dragged against him brought warmth to him, a kind of warmth that he craved, that he hadn’t felt in months. The breath against him made him hurt. It sent a sort of anxious ache to his gut. His breathing increased, turning into panting, hitching, breaking, staggered. His whole body ached, his mind was spinning, he was frightened and aroused and confused, a feeling he knew all too well, which only instilled the also all-too-familiar feeling of panic. Clint was panicking now, struggling to escape whatever weight was pressing down on him, to escape whoever’s hands were sinking into his hips.  
He saw a glint of green eyes, shimmering like emeralds, and then he awoke. Clint’s limbs were thrashing about the tub, slamming against the sides. Once his senses came to, the man snapped his limbs back against his body, shaking and cupping his wrist, which as far as he was able to tell, was badly broken now. Even in the dark, he could see a purple discolouration, and he could feel blood dripping down from it. He was silent for a moment, panting and sweating from the dream and from the realization of having injured himself. Then, he let out a long, agonizing scream, followed by his head lolling back against the tub, a heavy sob bouncing off the walls of the bathroom.  
Clint’s body shook, tears rolling down his cheeks. He was cold, and wet, and in pain now. He had really thought he was getting better. He was finally sleeping, focusing on something else, being productive. And now it was like all of that progress was for nothing. He’d never been worse. His dream was so vivid, so terrifying, and he woke up only to discover he had managed to break his own wrist (and god knows what else) and is still sitting in a freezing cold bathroom in sopping wet clothing.  
The man was slowly dragging himself out of the tub now, weak and shaking, when his cellphone began ringing. Upon exiting into the living room, the only room that his blinds weren’t shut 100% of the time, he discovered that it was probably around 12 o’clock in the afternoon.  
“Barton, hi,” Coulson’s voice echoed from the other end.  
“Uh, hi,” Clint managed to choke out, pressing the phone between his ear and shoulder as he searched for something to help his throbbing wrist.  
“Something came up, can we move your eval to today?” Coulson sounded his usual self, but he could pick up on things better than anyone else. Clint had to be careful how he sounded, or his superior would know instantly something was wrong.  
“Oh, yeah, no problem. I just overslept, I can be there in a couple hours,” Clint replied. Coulson was silent, bringing a whole new wave of anxiety onto the man.  
“Sure, will two be ok?” He asked.  
By the time one-thirty rolled around, Clint was dressed and in his car, the pain in his wrist finally calming down. His whole body hurt though, feeling achy and sore to the touch, like when he had contracted the flu in Venezuela. His stomach hurt, his heart beat fast, his eyes wide and searching around him. His teeth grit hard against each other, starting an ache in his jaw. His brain was so full that it was empty. He couldn’t think of just one thing, his head was throbbing. This day was going to end horribly, he could feel it in his gut.  
Clint was absolutely determined to make this evaluation go well though. He decided upon entering the building that even if he saw Loki walk up to him and start screaming in his ear, he wouldn’t react to it. And it worked, for the most part. He couldn’t help but double-take sometimes, but he always reminded himself to keep a lid on it. Coulson did take notice of his wrist and asked what had happened, to which Clint ‘embarrassingly admitted’ to having slipped in the rain on his way home one night and landed wrong on his wrist. Coulson seemed to buy it.

“Well Agent Barton, you seem to be doing much better.” Coulson said, flashing a smile as he stood to shake Clint’s hand, “I’ll submit my notes to Fury and I’ll let you know what he decides.”  
“Thanks.” Clint replied, smiling back and shaking his hand, “I look forward to the call.”  
Back on the road, Clint fell apart. His head fell against the steering wheel briefly, a long sigh escaping his lips. He felt exhausted and irritable and he was in more pain than he had been in months. A sense of dull relief washed over him as he pulled his car into his building’s parking garage. The eval was over, and it seemed to go quite well. Now he can crawl back into bed and try to forget the fact that a God had stuck his fist in his brain and left it there for a week.

The garage was silent, a comfortable dimness felt nice on Clint’s weary eyes, and a cool draft drifted across the building. He was nearly halfway across the garage when another car pulled in beside him, the engine cutting off and the door opening.  
“Hello again,” The man the stepped out of the car said cheerily with a wave, “Didn’t expect to see you again so soon.” The door shut and the man stepped over to Clint, leaning on the back of his car.  
“You’re not real,” Clint said, his jaw clenching, “You can’t be here, you’re not real.”  
“Rude, Agent Barton, but not entirely wrong,” Loki swung one leg over to rest on the other and he let out a long breath, “I’m not going to lie, you’ve looked better. Of course, you’ve also looked worse.” He winked.  
“So have you.” Clint snapped back, “And I’m not wasting my time talking to you.”  
Clint attempted to walk away, but Loki just pushed himself away from the car and took up a stride beside him. He continued to talk, though Clint tuned him out.  
When they were outside though, between the building that made up the garage and the building that made up the actual apartments, Clint stopped, turning on the other man.  
“Why the hell are you here?!” He demanded, his hands rolling into fists.  
“I assume the same reason you are,” Loki replied, flashing a smile.  
Clint snapped and threw a punch at the God’s face, sending Loki stumbling back into the street. He quickly moved after him, pinning him to the ground and crouching above him, he took up Loki’s shirt in his fist and continued throwing punches until the God’s face was bruised and bloody.

What happened after that was somewhat of a blur. Clint could remember a loud commotion going on around him, a number of screams and lots of voices garbling together. He remembered being dragged off of Loki. He remembered a long car ride. And looking around he could see concrete and metal. Looking down, he could see blood covering his knuckles. He wasn’t sure if any of it was his or not. His vision was blurred and broken, dreamlike.  
“In case you were wondering, I didn’t bother submitting my notes to the Director.” A voice garbled to his right. Clint looked up slowly, taking several heartbeats to discern who stood just outside the bars, “I didn’t think it’d be worth it after… well, after what happened today.”  
A guard came up behind Coulson and unlocked the cell, stepping back so Clint could exit, “I did however, take the liberty of paying your bail. Think of it as a farewell gift.” Coulson didn’t say anything more after that, but instead, turned and left after nodding politely to the guard.  
After Coulson had gone out of view, Clint forced himself to his feet and took tiny steps out of the cell. The rest was blurred again. He remembered being given his wallet and keys back. He remembered calling a taxi, and he remembered arriving home. But it was blurred and broken, dreamlike. His vision was fading, almost gone by the time his head hit the pillow.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on Tumblr!
> 
> Http://birdwithakeyboard.tumblr.com/


End file.
